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The Cherry Orchard

A new production of Chekhov's masterpiece 'The Cherry Orchard' set in 1920's America

Location

Anton
Chekhov's
The Cherry Orchard from
1903, his last play, shows us a family on the edge of ruin on the eve of the
Russian Revolution. Landowner Ranevskaya has overspent her income while on an
extended sojourn in Paris, so that as she arrives home at last, the family estate
and its well-known cherry orchard are about to be auctioned off to pay their
debts and raise some ready cash.

Four
Seven Two Productions sets the action (such as it is, since this is something
of a threnody, with the fateful act of sale occurring strictly off-stage)
before set designer Niamh Calway's
picturesque backcloth, that near the end of the drama changes symbolically, of
the blossoming orchard in its springtime glory. The estate's owning family plus
retainers, would-be buyers and dependents come and go in the run-up to the sale
and then in its aftermath.

The publicity blurb tells us that director Ross
Moncrieff "re-imagines the play in prohibition-era 1920s America... on the cusp of great political change... new
significance in the Jazz Age". Well maybe, and despite Moncrieff's
kindly outlining in person his artistic vision to me, I struggled to make the
desired visual connection. To be sure, the serf-made-good Lopakhin looked
dapper in his Al Capone suit and Bing Crosby two-tone shoes, and a smart 6-piece
jazz band bopped away intermittently up in the gallery, but it's a bit of
stretch from there to the silver birch woods and black earth of Mother Russia,
and I felt we lacked milestones along the path of our trans-continental journey.
The result was that the taking the play into another era and country seemed to
me almost rather more of a distraction than a felicitous shedding of new light
on its themes and symbols.

Like Uncle Vanya and The Seagull, this is tragi-comedy, a notoriously difficult genre
successfully to bring off, and in this production I had a slight feeling of
being caught in a no man's land between almost gloomy seriousness and light
comedy, the latter mainly supplied by the frivolous older brother Gayev and by
the governess Charlotte (Conky Kampfner, very good). On the other hand, Moncrieff
does convey the strong sense of inevitability running through the conflict between
the necessity for change and nostalgia for the past. There's also clear contrast
of opportunity as outlined in their differing prescriptions (though both characters
are firmly orientated towards the future) by the entrepreneurial, materialistic
Lopakhin on the one hand and on the other the perpetual student Trofimov who
idealizes the notion of work and emphasizes the primacy of truth over love and
beauty.

In
this staging, I tended to miss the sense that the players were forming a
cohesive ensemble as they sometimes wandered anonymously onstage and stood about
the somewhat anodyne set, neither detailed nor schematic, and then would disappear,
all but crushed by the weight of recollection of happier times and past glories.
It occurred to me that newcomers to the play would have been wishing for a bit
more assistance in character and even social class identification through more
clearly differentiated costume and accent – the latter were uniformly American
of varying authenticity.

In
the pivotal role of Ranevskaya, Tara Kilcoyne
portrayed the fidgety irresponsibility of the woman, though I missed insight
into her emotional intelligence, and specifically why she is prepared to
choose a new romantic love over financial prudence. She was, though, touching
as she wailed; 'Without the cherry orchard, I can't make sense of my life.' As Lopakhin, Jon Berry, whom I know to be an accomplished actor, appeared a
little ill at ease early on, but came on more strongly after the interval as he
turns proposals into action, thereby managing to break free of his peasant
heritage. Alma Prelec was a plain-speaking adopted daughter Varya, and Lee
Simmonds as old man Firs (though strangely dark-haired) rang down the curtain sympathetically
on the ghosts that remained at the estate.

It must be said that two actors, in particular, caught the eye. Christopher Page, an excellent Hotspur in
Henry IV pt. 1 back in May, quite brutally introduced indignation and anger
into the rather effete proceedings, announcing: 'We have to stop admiring
ourselves. We have simply to work!' and his drive stood out. I also
enjoyed the skilful acting of Lara Deering as the daughter Anya. Though occasionally
a little subdued in voice, she inhabited the role
like a glove, fluently expressive in movement. The scene on the garden bench
between Messrs Page and Deering, though brief, shone brightly.

Four
Seven Two have made a decent stab at difficult material, and audiences later in
the week are likely to encounter higher energy levels and ease of movement as
the production beds in.